Drabble Series 3: Private Dancer
by snugsbunnyfluff
Summary: Sequel to Just Do It! Well, you knew you'd have to pay for it eventually! The rating has gone up.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything and am very sorry for my defiling of all characters from Tolkien's and Peter Jackson' respective works. All mistakes are mine.

Authors Note: This drabble series is now developing a plot. Dang it!

You made your way down the dim hallway, towards the creepy storage room. Cracking open the door, you sidled in and shut it.

You could see, barely, from the dim light that leaked through the slits in the poorly fitting door over to the corner where your clothes were folded in a neat little pile.

Pulling off your bag, and going for the tight laces on your top you were stopped by the sound of a heavy sigh behind you.

Right behind you!

Becoming a statue you stared at the floor, waiting to see what would happen. Did one of those disgusting men stand behind you? Did they have a knife? Oh my God, what if they've got a knife and no one knows where you are?

Your heartbeat ramped up as you could feel the adrenaline flood your body, kicking in your fight or flight response.

"Are you scared?"

You knew that voice, your shoulders slumped in relief. "Thorin."

"Aye."

You heard the chill in his voice. So he was still arctic-angry with you. Well, you'd expected it.

"Though, I could have been anyone. Those men out there, they would not think twice to come here." You felt the heat of him at your back, "Forced themselves upon you."

His hand glided around your stomach. You were pulled back sharply into him, "And I would have been none the wiser."

You lowered your head. You couldn't argue with him, you'd had the same thought. "I'm sorry. I know it was foolish, but I had to do something to help. I won't let the quest fail."

Your hair was pulled over one shoulder. "I should punish you for what you did. It was done in good faith, I know. However, you should know that only one type of woman would dress and dance like you did."

Your head turned a fraction listening to him. His breath whispered over the side of your neck, you could feel the tiny brush of his prickly beard. "In your world, do you have those who earn their coin, pleasuring men?"

You staggered forward, suddenly insulted by his words. "I'm not a…a… Prostitute." You'd seen them before, in your world. Had felt sorry for them, but there was still that part of you offended by his words.

"No?"

"No!" You tried to turn, but he held you hard and secure. "I'm not, I mean… I've never even…" You decided to shut up and quit while you were still ahead, kind of.

"Very well." He relented, and his grip disappeared as quickly as it appeared. "However, there is still the question of your punishment."

"But, I thought…"

"Oh, I know very well what you thought." His voice was getting further away, and you heard the creaking of wood behind you.

You wanted to turn around, but knew instinctually that would be wrong. So you waited, breath heavy, feeling the first tingles of excitement flutter deep in your belly.

"Turn around…slowly."

There was no question of you disobeying.

You could barely see him, just a dark form breaking up the emptiness, with the only light settling on his boots and the front legs of the chair.

"Your punishment… Is to dance for me." You could hear the creaking, making out the dark form leaning forward, "Slowly."

Well, you'd wanted this moment, and now that it was here a shyness streamed through you.

Up until a few years back, dancing had been your life. At school, you'd been the star of every Rock Challenge. Had even helped to choreograph. You were bracing for a future at a college in London that specialised in contemporary dance.

Then, your mum had died suddenly and you'd lost everything, including your motivation. Today, out there, you'd won it back through necessity. Now, here, in this near-dark room, you could show this Dwarf, this King, your true passion.

You closed your eyes for a moment and centred your thoughts. You plucked at random memories and found one that was just right. Music came to you, and you began your motions.

Lifting your arms above you; hands placed flat together, you started with your hips. Starting out with gentle sways that began a journey up your body. Until you were undulating snake-like in front of him.

You imagined blue eyes, like tempered steel, roaming over your body. Your hips began to circle as you sped up your movements. The sounds of your skirt swaying around your legs, and his loud uneven breaths creating a delicious melody.

You began to roll your tummy in classic belly dancing moves, starting slow, keeping your hips moving, speeding up. His breathing was keeping time, a living metronome.

The swell of your breasts above your shirt was next in your erotic dance. Arms stretched out at your sides, hands twisting and turning, you shimmied your chest and heard him pant. Opening your eyes, you could see, now that you were adjusted to the darkness, his form balanced precariously on the edge of that rickety chair.

Every unsteady breath from him spurred you faster and faster. He'd be hyperventilating soon if you didn't bring this to a close.

You moved closer, placing each foot in front the other dainty toes first, still swinging your hips. The passion inside you wanting to burst free, and you couldn't help shimmying hard as you bent over before him. You flicked your hair, tilted your hips, stood up, twisted around and knew he had grabbed hold of your skirt, needing to touch you in some way. You smiled smugly as you broke out into that delicious twerking, your arse no doubt hypnotising him as it jiggled and bounced.

He was up behind you, one calloused hand against the flesh of your tummy, securing you against him.

Oh God, you could feel him, thick, hard, oh shite! He was long, very long, pressed against your arse that circled, pushed back, ground against him.

Another hand circled you, while one slipped down, beneath the band of your skirt, searching. When he found the treasure he sought, he merely placed a finger there and let your movements do all the teasing, tantalising work.

It was all the encouragement you needed as you bucked, ground, circled, shimmied, and swayed. Your knees trembled, and you had to lean back against him, his strength keeping you upright with one hand only. Your head arched back against his shoulder, you turned and leaned your forehead against his chin, feeling that delicious beard.

The rough stimulation from nearly every part of him touching nearly every part of you was becoming too much. You didn't gasp your arousal, you cried it out, shallow screams mingling with his gravelly growls.

It was becoming hard to breathe, to see. You could feel the sweat sliding down your neck, between your breasts and cried out to Thorin, unsure what you were asking of him. His touch between your legs increased as he drove you forward into that heady rush. His own hips grinding against you whispered pleas against your hot, glistening skin.

Finally, it became too much and you arched away, your hips bucking against his hand, crying out to Thorin, his answer was to hold you tighter and ground you in this world, in case you went flying off into another.

Then it began ebbing and you slumped listening to his harsh breathing, he rubbed his chin against you as he began to settle himself. You could feel he was trembling as much as you.

You looked up at him, turning awkwardly in his tight grip. You needed to know. "Thorin, did you…erm?"

Well, you wanted to know but wasn't quite sure how to ask if he'd just climaxed in his trousers. And…actually did he have any spare clothing?

Ewww!

The Dwarf seemed to read your mind, he shook his head, and before you could think about it, you just acted.

You were at his belt, pulling hard to get it undone. You suspected that the Alpha-Dwarf part of him wanted to refuse, to not blunt his masculinity. To let you believe that he was okay walking around with what looked like the royal sceptre shoved down his pants.

That thought perhaps lasted a few seconds for him, because suddenly four hands were trying to get his belt undone, his armoured tunic off, whilst having a few layers still on top. You had enough and slapped his hands away, he wasn't helping in the least.

Shoving everything up, commanding he hold it, while you went to work on his trousers, five little buttons separated you from gold. They came apart easily and you dropped to your knees, caught up in this moment.

You wished there was more light, you wanted to see him so badly, but really what did it matter. Vision was overrated when you had touch to go by. And as you pulled down his trousers he fell into your waiting hand, all your senses sprung to life. Oh, he was hot, and actually, those romance books had it right. Little Thorin, throbbed.

For something that had thick veins running up it the skin covering him was smooth. The scent, something you thought wouldn't be pleasant, reminded you of the soft moss in the forest that you'd laid your head against. It was a natural earthy smell and as you inhaled your mouth watered and your lower half clenched hard.

You felt like one of Pavlov's dogs and knew that fresh smell of loam and spongy moss would always make you think of this moment.

You wanted to savour, to tease, to learn every part of him. His heavy panting above you, his hand in your hair, told you he didn't have time. Gathering your courage around you, praying that you did this right, you slipped your mouth onto him.

And nearly choked as he thrust hard into your mouth. Pulling back, eyes watering, gasping for breath you gave a savage look that clearly said, "Next time I'll bite it off."

It was a powerful aphrodisiac to see him so out of control and you forgave quickly as you inhaled him with a hard suck. Remembering every romance book you read, one hand came up to him, holding him as you began to pump him whilst sliding your mouth over him.

You could feel him swell in your mouth and figured that was a sign he was getting closer. Both hands were in your hair, fingers grabbing and releasing.

You made a choice. You wanted to experiment. Pulling off him completely, feeling the desperate tug of his fists in your hair you looked up at him. "I want… I've never let." Oh hell, why couldn't you get the words out? "I want you to…" you finished your sentence with a jerk of your head towards him and bless him for using that telepathy he seemed to have because he nodded.

You sucked him back in, fisting your hand around him and twisting it as you pumped him, your mouth sucking at him harder. You could feel him fighting the urge to thrust, his thighs against your shoulders betrayed his trembling and he didn't hold back on his growls and groans of encouragement.

And just when you thought you'd never accomplish your mission he froze, solid, like an ice sculpture. Your mouth flooded with heat and bitterness as he poured into you. You were worried it might start coming out your nose there was so much of it. Spurt after spurt he came in your mouth with only heavy breathing letting you know he was alive and not frozen solid.

You had no choice but to follow through with your experiment and begin swallowing. You decided then and there this was solely something to do on birthdays or anniversaries, actually maybe just leap years.

It was a relief when he drizzled away to nothing, and you let him slide out of your mouth and took a refreshing gasp of air.

The majestic Dwarf stepped back and righted his clothing, not looking at you. You frowned, feeling a little hurt at that. Then again, what male understood the meaning of a tender moment?

Turning to the corner, you ignored him while you dressed, being a ninja in the art of dressing without undressing. You'd done it so many times on the beach under the security of your multi-coloured beach towel.

That hurt inside was blooming, and not in a pleasant way, more like that fast-growing mould that used to decorate your kitchen walls. You were so irate that you slung down the skirt and the damn top, grabbed your animal bag, clenching it like you might just clobber the ass-hat behind you and scarpered.

You were through the door into the hallway when he snatched your arm. Your own momentum forced you around, colliding with him. You didn't glare, you were better than that. Keeping your face empty, ignoring the glassiness of your eyes, you could claim it was dust.

Thorin stared at you, before dropping his eyes to your lips. His hand came up, fisting, leaving only his thumb outstretched like he was giving you the thumbs up sign. If he told you "Job well done," you'd murder him. Strangle him with his own damn braids.

Instead, he brought the pad of his thumb down to your bottom lip, wiping at something. Before pushing his thumb into your mouth. You couldn't help it, it was that damn Pavlov's fault, you sucked… hard.

His ripped his hand way and pushed you back. You expected to meet the solid wall with a crunching impact, but his hands were there, protecting your back and head. He didn't pause as he followed into your body, his lips crushing down on yours.

That tongue, oh how you missed that flexible, wet, strong part of him. The dwarf couldn't help but dominate you with a kiss that sent you nearly into an apocalyptic climax. You tried to keep up, but he left you limper than a noodle, as the hand in your hair dictated the angle of your mouth.

As fast as he begun the kiss, he was faster pulling away. Actually holding you at arm's length. The sneaky Dwarf knew you'd try and coax him into more.

Now in the light, you could see him. Your brows rose as your brain caught up. The Dwarf was a mess. He was on edge, his hands shaking, his breathing as though he'd run a mile in thirty seconds. His clothes were dishevelled, his hair, well you'd done a job there. It was nice to be the one with the perfect hair for a change, well you hoped at least. It was his gaze that caught you, a wildness in his cobalt eyes that mesmerised and sucked all the oxygen out of you.

This is the effect you had on him.

The majestic king brought low because of his passion… for you.

And somehow, you knew, he was letting you stare. He wanted you to see.

His words about prostitutes earlier had been loud in your mind after he wouldn't look at you. You'd felt demeaned, brittle, used. He'd said you were to be punished, and you'd really thought he'd done all that to bring you low, to get you on your knees to prove a point of how he saw you.

Now, though, you realised how close to the edge this Dwarf really was, that if he didn't stop now, he'd take you hard against the wall, and to hell with the consequences.

You wanted it, badly. To feel this Dwarf inside you so deeply you'd feel him in your throat. For him to pound, thrust and pierce your very soul. To leave you numb and complete, breathless and shattered. It would be violent and wild. Two animals joining in lust.

Consequently, with that horrible feeling of burgeoning maturity you knew would eventually infect you. You stood straight, head held high. You swallowed hard, not able to think of anything pithy to say. His hands dropped away and he stepped back, inclining his head in that beautiful, masculine way he had. You walked away, knowing he needed the time to pull himself back together.

As you rounded the corner, you grinned and pumped your fist in the air.

Next drabble coming soon: Twerking in Mirkwood also known as Dwarves getting high!


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